Poetry Stretch Results - Triolet

The challenge this week was to write in the form of a triolet. Here are the results.

Jane Yolen abandoned this one in the comments.

This is the morning after his death
Though three years in the past.
I watched him take his final breath,
But this is the morning after his death.
There is no height, nor underneath,
There is no slow, there is no fast,
Only this morning after his death,
Though three years in the past.

Tiel Aisha Ansari at Knocking From Inside has two poems to share. The first, Savanna Dust, is serious, while the second, Spaetzle Triolet, is goofy (her words, not mine).

Tess at Written for Children shared this poem in the comments.

Little Triolet with Toilet

Marcel Duchamp he had his fun
Fur-rimmed cups for drinking tea
The Fountain critics chose to shun
Marcel Duchamp, he had his fun
In time his eye/intellect had won
But his Selavy art still startles me
Marcel Duchamp he had his fun
Fur-rimmed cups for drinking tea!

Kelly Polark left this rockin' poem in the comments.

ROCK CONCERT PREMIERE

The guitar chords blast,
the bass pounds in my chest.
My glad heart beats fast.
The guitar chords blast.
I forget my past.
I rock with the best.
The guitar chords blast,
the bass pounds in my chest.

Julie Larios of The Drift Record also left a poem in the comments.

A Duo of Triolets

How does a poet look?
The answer’s with his eyes
or like a thief stealing souls. Just look
at how the poet looks
at life, as if he were a two-bit crook,
casing the joint, cold as ice.
How does a poet look?
The answer’s always in the eyes.

How does a poet smell?
The answer’s either like a rose
or well (which is adverbial,
as in How does a poet smell?
He smells well with his nose.) Smells well
when, on the surface, nothing shows.
As in A poet sometimes smells
a question, when the answer is a rose.

Pratibha at Of something 'n' Everything shares a poem entitled Our Marriage. Welcome Pratibha!

Jacqueline at The Neverending Story shares two triolets entitled Love is not blind.

Winnie the Poohi at Song of my life shares a poem called A Road. Welcome Winnie!

Lisa Chellman at under the covers gives us the poem Swing Song.

cloudscome at a wrung sponge wrote a birthday poem for her youngest. It's called Birthday Boy.

When I posted this challenge I mentioned that this form "scares the heck out of me." Much like the pantoum and villanelle, I find the repetition hard to deal with and just don't feel like I understand it yet. (Mechanically I get it, but what comes out is just too prosaic.) Here are two attempts at a form that I can't seem to master. *Sigh*

Pearls of green drip from the willow
as the gowns of spring emerge
through receding ice and snow.
Pearls of green drip from the willow,
flowers bloom, new seedlings grow—
earth’s renewal begins to surge.
Pearls of green drip from the willow
as the gowns of spring emerge.


What will it take
to finally know peace?
Do you know what’s at stake?
How much can we take
of the senseless heartache
before wars cease?
What will it take
to finally know peace?

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.